


Broken Bones

by antineutrinos



Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Hat Films, M/M, One Night Stand, Past Relationships, Slow Burn, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-11 01:52:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11704344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antineutrinos/pseuds/antineutrinos
Summary: 'Out of sight, out of mind' doesn't ring true for Trott when it comes to his ex. If anything, Ross is a bigger part of his life now than he was when they were going out. Things begin to change when a one night stand named Smith is in need of something to light his cigarette.





	1. Chapter 1

I 

   
 

It was three in the morning. Trott stepped out of the apartment, shutting the door behind him quietly. He heard it lock with a soft  _click_. He held his pullover in his hands, his hair messy. He stole away into the night, taking the stairs down instead of the lift. He took his time, running his hand through his hair and over his face. He didn’t hesitate as he left the apartment building, pulling on the hoodie as he stepped out into the cool night air. It was the height of July, and even this late, the heat never really left. He started walking. 

Trott could feel the pull of tiredness underneath his eyes. He stank of sex. The man he slept with- the man whose apartment he left- wasn’t what Trott was looking for. The man tried too hard, made too much of a show. He wasn’t like Ross. No one was like Ross, Trott thought bitterly. 

He rubbed his nose. The sun was beginning to rise over the horizon, painting the sky in swathes of pinks and reds. Trott knew his lifestyle wasn’t exactly  _healthy._  A different person every night. Each person had blue eyes and dark hair. 

Blue eyes and dark hair did not equal Ross. Trott learned that the hard way. 

- 

Really, Trott reasoned, you couldn’t  _blame_  him for his questionable coping mechanisms. 

The shower in his apartment was shitty. The water pressure was shit, and it took  _years_  for the water to heat up. However, Trott wanted nothing but to scrub himself clean of sex and strangers. 

Ross only went and broke his heart- shooting for the stars, leaving Trott behind. What did Trott think would happen? Everyone left him eventually, didn’t they? And now, here he was, living pay check to pay check. Spending money on cigarettes and alcohol. Dead-end job. Tiny apartment. Unfamiliar bodies and backseat blowjobs. It was almost a year ago now, that he was thrown completely into a whirlwind. Almost a year to the day that Ross left. 

The water turned cold, before stopping completely. Trott took a deep breath, shaking the water out of his hair, before wrapping a towel around himself. 

- 

One thing Trott almost enjoyed was  _losing_ himself. Whether it was someone’s body or a bottle, he didn’t mind. When he was lost, he could forget about Ross, about the hellhole his life had become. Somewhere, he was guilty for letting himself fall just  _so_  far from grace. He was almost glad he stopped talking to his parents. He’d hate to have their opinion on his state of living. 

This time, it was a young student who believed he had the world in his hands. The world, and Trott’s cock. Trott hummed, humoring the guy. Trott smiled when he realized he’d already forgotten his name. The guy smiled back, not seeing the cynicism behind it. He had the world in his hands, after all. 

- 

Trott threw back the alcohol. The club was claustrophobic, the air heavy with sweat. The heat was amplified by the swarms of people, flocked to the dance floor. Trott coughed into his hand. He scanned the crowds. He could see everyone from his place, leaning against one of the back walls. He set the shot glass down at the side on the bar. Trott cleared his throat, the alcohol and the people making him feel like he was floating. 

He surveyed the crowd again and- no. His gaze stopped on a man with his back to Trott.  _It couldn’t be._  

The man was the right height, the right build- it couldn’t be Ross. Trott’s heart almost stopped. Suddenly the room felt empty. It was just him and this man, moving in slow-motion. All the music, all the people disappeared. Trott moved forward. It had to be Ross. It looked just like him. The short hair, the grey polo shirt- he was talking to someone next to him, a woman in a short dress. Trott swallowed, reaching his hand out. He almost forgot to feel ashamed of how shallow his breathing became, how his heart sped up with both terror and disbelief. The tears welled up with ease.  _Ross was back._  

The man shuffled awkwardly to the music, and god, Trott was reminded of when that was him dancing with Ross into the early hours of the morning. How their shoulders would brush, the air around them crackling with tension. It always felt like it was just Ross and Trott at the club, alone. No one else mattered when they were together. Ross made everything else disappear. Trott could almost laugh at the irony. Ross was still making the room feel empty, but this time it made Trott sick to his stomach instead of the anxious feeling of butterflies. 

The room was full again. People dancing, touching. Music blaring. The man turned to face another friend. Trott’s mouth turned dry as sandpaper when he saw the man’s face. It wasn’t Ross. It was someone else. 

The man’s face was too round. He had no stubble. The eyes weren’t the right kind of blue. His hair was black. The nose was too big. Not broad like Ross. Not Ross’ grey Abercrombie & Fitch polo. Not Ross. 

Trott swallowed again. He was relieved. What would he have done if it  _was_  Ross? Trott turned around, heading for the fire escape. God, he needed a cigarette. 

- 

Trott stood in the alleyway between the club and another building, a bar, he thought. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to rub away the tears. He took a deep, shuddering breath. The music still boomed from inside the building, reverberating through the walls. It was peaceful out here, a far cry from the inside of the club. Trott was grateful he got out. 

The moon was high in the sky, and there was a small breeze blowing. Trott leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. 

He pulled a battered carton of cigarettes out of his pocket. He pulled one out, lighting up quickly. He breathed in the initial puff of smoke, blowing it up into the air. He stashed the cigarettes and lighter back in his pocket. Trott closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall. He took a deep drag of the cigarette. 

When he opened his eyes again, there was someone walking down the alley towards him. They were silhouetted against the night, a dark shadow approaching him. Trott took another breath of his cigarette, watching and waiting. 

As they got closer, Trott could make out a half assed attempt at a beard and an oval face. He seemed around Trott’s age. He was much, much taller than Trott. Trott swallowed when he realized the man was making a beeline straight for him. He was skeptical. He’d had enough run-ins with strangers tonight. 

“Sorry, mate, do you’ve a light?” 

The voice was rough, a playfully pleading tone hiding beneath. Trott stared at the man. He was certainly tall. It didn’t help that Trott was slumped against a wall. The man had deep bags in his eyes, but he held Trott’s stare. There was something about his eyes. 

He reached slowly into his pocket, pulling out his old Snoopy lighter. He grimaced as he handed it to the stranger. Ross had given him the lighter. Trott could remember the moment perfectly in his mind- the way this guy’s smile filled his face distracted him. The man snickered as he lit up a cigarette. Trott took another drag of his, blowing the smoke up into the sky. His present to the stars. 

“I’m Smith, by the way. That’s a great lighter you’ve got there.” The man, Smith, gestured to the print on the lighter. It was Snoopy cuddling Woodstock. Smith seemed awfully amused. 

Trott smiled at him, showing his canines. Smith seemed to see right through it. It felt like Trott was being stripped bare, with the way Smith was staring at him. “Thank you. It was a gift.” Trott looked at the ground, at his cigarette. He smiled again. “I’m Trott. Chris Trott.” 

Smith blew smoke out between his lips, slowly. The end of his cigarette created a small glow. He tapped the ends onto the brick pavement of the alley. “Well, Chris Trott, I suppose I know what I'll be getting you for Christmas.” Smith looked at Trott, before looking back towards the ground. 

Trott smiled a sad smile in response, dropping his cigarette to the ground. He stepped on it, grinding it down. He looked up at Smith. 

- 

 _God_ , Smith was so  _hot._ Trott was pressed up against the side of Smith’s car, and  _Jesus,_  he hadn’t been this into someone in ages.  _Since Ross._  

Smith was pressing hot, open mouthed kisses to Trott’s jaw. Trott’s hands scrambled, searching. He played with the hem of Smith’s shirt, reaching up, beneath his shirt to run his hands across the smooth expanse of muscle. Trott didn’t even care that they were in public. He only cared about the way Smith said his name. 

Losing himself in someone was one thing, but  _this_ was losing himself on a whole new level. 

“Car.” Trott murmured against the plumpness of Smith's lips. He whined in response, reaching behind him for the car handle. They broke apart, falling into the back seat. Trott pulled Smith’s shirt up over his head, throwing it on the floor. Smith lied across the seats, Trott settling between his legs. Trott reveled in the scratch of Smith’s stubble against his check, the rough feeling of his chapped lips. Smith tasted of cigarette smoke and limes. 

Smith kissed back with ferocity. Trott tangled a hand in his curly auburn hair. Smith’s fingers were rough, calloused. There was an energy between them that Trott couldn’t get enough of. He was reminded of Ross- but Ross never had curly hair. Ross never tasted of cigarettes. Smith whined, and Trott remembered why he was here. 

He teased Smith mercilessly, running his fingers around the waistband of his jeans. His hands ran everywhere, but with a feather light touch that was never enough to satisfy. Smith was sucking dark purple marks along Trott’s collar. Trott allowed Smith to be  _the one_  for tonight. 

There was a wonderful friction between them. Smith’s hips bucked when Trott finally gave in, unzipping Smith’s fly slowly. Too slow. Smith whined. Trott stopped him with a kiss. 

Trott was breathless. The air was heavy between them, thick with  _want_  and  _please_ and  _Trott_ _, yes_. He slid his hand down Smith’s boxers. Smith was taut, eyes shut, mouth open. Trott smiled, biting Smith’s adam’s apple, murmuring against his skin.  _Yes. Do you like that? Look at me._  

Smith’s eyes were a gorgeous colour, pupils blown wide. Trott felt like he was floating. Smith reached up, catching Trott in an open-mouthed kiss. Trott broke it, reaching down to lick the beads of sweat pooling in the hollows of Smith’s collarbones. 

Trott was jerking off Smith beneath his boxers, and he could feel Smith get closer with each pull of his hand. Smith was getting louder, the car full of his moans and whines and curses. Trott could feel the crescendo building. 

Trott smiled. He was going to enjoy this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Drop me a comment to tell me what you think. Thank you!


	2. Chapter 2

II

 

  
Trott didn’t really think about Smith that much after their _night of passion._

Sure, Smith was attractive. Trott definitely felt something with Smith that he didn’t usually feel with other people.

However, Smith wasn’t Ross.

-

Everything began blurring into one another. The days were full of nothingness. The nights were full of cheap booze and meaningless sex. Trott could feel the world turning around him, but he didn’t seem to be turning with it.

The air was heavy. Trott buttoned back up his dress shirt. His ‘lover’ had since left the shitty toilets in the back of the run-down bar they’d met in. The white tiles lining the walls were once white, but they'd seen better days. It was mercifully quiet. Trott wasn't sure if it calmed his nerves or made them worse. He washed his hands in the sink, the water pipes creaking. He felt sweaty. The sex was nothing memorable. Trott wondered, in the back of his mind, if people forgot about him the way he forgot about them. _I wouldn’t blame them_ , he thought. _I'm hardly anything special_.

Trott ran his fingers through his hair, trying to smooth it down. His white shirt, much like the tiles, had seen better days. He tucked it into his trousers. Deeming himself acceptable, he took a deep breath and left the bathroom. He made his way through the hallways, back to the main area.

The bar was cute. Rustic. The lighting was low, making it nice and cosy. Standing next to the bar, Trott would never think he was in the middle of a massive on-the-rise city. The bartender was a big guy with a beard, tattoos crawling up and down his arms. There were table and chairs scattered around, little candles placed on the middle of each one. There was a small stage in one corner. Sitting there was a guy with a guitar, playing some nice music. Atmospheric.

Trott was about to head for the door when he saw just who was on the stage with a guitar.

_Smith._

Trott turned around and ordered a triple shot of tequila.

-

Trott grew up with Ross. They'd gone to school together, gone to university together, spent all their time together. Trott often enjoyed torturing himself by reminiscing the long summers they'd spent together as teenagers in the aching, humid heat.

They used to climb the tree in the back of Ross' back garden, sitting up there for hours. They built a 'treehouse' that consisted mainly of some planks strewn across the branches to create a makeshift floor. There was a piece of tarp hung above them to make a roof. They'd snook up some Playboy magazines, raided biscuits and hot flasks of tea from the kitchen. They spent days up there, talking and joking around.

Until, of course, Trott fell out of the tree and broke his arm. He'd spent the remainder of his fourteenth summer in a cast, but he took it in his stride. A little hero. He couldn’t wait to show his sling to Ross- it was so cool! A bone fractured in three places! Their mother’s scoldings fell on deaf ears. It rolled off like water off a duck’s back.

Ross and Trott. Trott and Ross. Partners in crime. Thick as thieves. Playboy-sneakers and arm-breakers.  
  
The thing Trott looked forward to most is when they'd take the train out to the seaside. They did it every summer, and before long it became a ritual. They'd save up their money to pay for the fare, cycling to the train station early in the morning to make the most of their day. They'd board the train, giddy with excitement. Trott could picture the train journey as if it were a home movie someone had made on an old video camera. Rolls and rolls of film inside a VHS. Load it into the VCR. Listen to the noise. Watch it play.

He could remember the colours streaking past the train window as they sped towards the coast. Fields and farms made way for towns and terraces, until they were back to fields once more. Everything outside the window blurring as they picked up speed. Sitting across from one another as they watched the world fly by in front of them. Trott brought his schoolbag, empty of schoolbooks, instead full of chocolate digestives, Haribo jellies and a towel or two.

Trott and Ross shared a look as they stuffed their faces full of biscuits. “Do you think the arcade’ll be open?” Ross asked, mouth full of chocolate. He bit into another one, munching loudly.

Trott feigned disgust. He took the time to finish his digestive and take a sip of water before thinking about his answer. “Dunno, mate.”

They fell into an easy silence, filled with chewing and drinking.

Trott’s straight face broke, and soon they descended into a fit of giggles. It went on for longer than it should’ve, fueled by the excitement for the day ahead and the laughter of each other.

-

Jesus. Trott threw down a shot. All the memories came flooding back. Trott couldn’t rid his mind of the image of Smith, shirtless, eyes shut, breath coming hard-

Trott cursed under his breath. This never usually happened. He was always careful to avoid someone he’d slept with. His mind was in overdrive. How could Smith be here? Playing music at the same place Trott happened to be giving someone a blowjob?

Smith was up there, on stage, singing. He hadn’t seen Trott.  
He was sitting at the bar. His back was to the stage. The wall behind the bar was covered in signs, photographs, those things with the stupid sayings on them. _I make wine disappear. What’s your_ _superpower_?, one read. Trott smiled a bitter smile at that one. _I have awkward, accidental encounters with hot guys I’ve slept with. I can’t bear to stay but I can’t bear to leave_.

Trott closed his eyes, focusing on his breath. Surely, if he did care so much about seeing Smith again, he would’ve left by now. He decided not to follow that train of thought. Trott did another shot. He’d die for a cigarette right now, but there was a ‘No Smoking’ sign hung over the bar. He clenched his fists.

Trott downed the last shot. What did he have to lose? He took a deep breath, turning his stool around to face Smith. He tried his best to ignore the niggling thoughts in his mind saying that this shouldn’t be a big deal. It was a big deal. It was a very big deal because _holy_ _shit_ Smith was still hot.

Smith was singing his heart out. Trott’s heart clenched looking at him. The people dotted around the room clapped when he came to the end of a song. He was a good performer. Trott could tell the crowd liked him. He could see Smith looking around at everyone, smiling. Loving the attention. Smith saw Trott. The smile didn’t disappear. They held eye contact. Smith’s gaze tore through him like a knife. Trott could hear the blood pumping in his ears.

Smith looked at someone else. He started singing another song, strumming the guitar gently. Trott wasn’t listening to the music. He let out a deep breath. His eyebrows pulled together, and Trott stopped listening to the music. Maybe...Did Smith not recognize him?

Trott’s mind went into a flurry. He ignored the sharp stab of hurt in his chest. They hooked up. Nothing major. A normal occurrence for Trott. But why did he feel so offended? Was he really not that special to Smith, that he wouldn’t even recognize him? It didn’t matter then, that Trott knew what Smith looked like when he was getting jacked off. It didn’t matter because Smith didn’t even remember his face afterwards.

Trott stood up to leave. He made the mistake of taking another look at Smith. He sat down again.

-

The second Smith’s finished, murmuring a small 'thank you' to the crowd, Trott bolted out the door. He hated to admit it, but Smith was good at performing. He knew how to get the crowd going. Had enough personality to make jokes between songs. Attractive and talented and charismatic and musical and-

It felt like a breath of relief to leave the bar. A weight off his shoulders. The night was refreshing and Trott was both glad and disappointed to go home. He ignored the latter.

Trott started walking home. He lit a cigarette, a slight tremor in his hands. He felt shaken to the core. He swallowed, his mouth dry. He couldn't believe how easily everything came flooding back. They slept together. That's all. Nothing more. Average. It means nothing to Trott. Right? Right. Definitely no feelings. That word isn't in Trott's vocabulary. Not since Ross, anyway.

Trott got home, barely pausing to strip down before falling into bed. His apartment was dusty and there were dishes piled high in the sink. Trott begged for sleep. It didn't come.

-

Ross and Trott stood on the pier, looking out at the sea. There was a wind blowing towards them, but it was warm and the waves were calm. The sound of the sea was heaven to their ears. There were plenty of people milling about. Children were splashing in the shallows, supervised by always-watching parents. Birds were high in the sky and over on the other side of the bay, there were people fishing off the cliffs. However, as fifteen year olds, they were short on patience. It wasn’t long before the view became boring and they wanted something more.

“C’mon, then, mate.” Ross beckoned, reaching up to pull his shirt off. They stripped down to their boxers, stuffing their clothes in Trott’s backpack. They shared a jittery grin. The sun was glaring down on them, and the smooth concrete of the pier was warm.

Ross wiggled his toes while he waited for Trott to try and zip the bag shut. Trott was pale in the sun, but the muscles jumped beneath his skin. Ross watched at him with a smile. He had butterflies in his stomach.

When Trott managed to half zip the backpack, he left it next to the balustrade and stood next to Ross. They stepped back from the edge, standing up straight. They looked at each other, an excited smile. Trott took Ross’ hand in his. They took a deep breath. They sprinted, taking a running jump off the pier. They screamed. The water was cold. The VHS kept playing.

-

The morning after seeing Smith, Trott pretended everything was fine. He pretended he'd never seen Smith having the time of his life with a guitar and a crowd. He pretended he didn't feel incredibly out of his depth, like one more look at Smith would drown him. Trott wanted to pretend he didn't know Smith at all.

However, he couldn't rid his mind of Smith. He was always in the back of Trott's mind, lurking. He hated it. Hated the hypocrisy. He went through his days in a daze. He smoked his way through a whole pack of cigarettes. He couldn’t get his head round Smith. There was so much mystery behind the rugged smile. Trott enjoyed thinking up vivid backstories for Smith in his head. A musician, secretly working undercover for the mob. Maybe he’s a navy SEAL. A knight that time traveled to the future and learned how to play guitar and smoke cigarettes. An alien that looked good with a guitar.

Trott realized at some point that he hadn’t thought of Ross in days. A new record. _A new distraction_.

A week had passed. Trott found himself outside the bar where he’d found Smith. He was playing again tonight. Trott stood in the doorway, debating whether or not he should go in. The low murmur from the people inside and the promise of seeing Smith again was enough. Trott went in, sitting at the bar counter. He ordered a beer, sipping while he waited. He settled down for the show.

-

Trott and Ross waded out of the water onto the beach. Ross kicked some water in Trott's direction. Trott shoved him back. The swash and backwash nipped at their heels. They were both breathless. Trott shook his head, shaking all the water out like a dog. They were both dripping, leaving droplets on the sand. It may have been a hot day, but the sea still had a chill to it. Any longer out there and their toes would’ve started turning blue. The sand stuck to the soles of their feet.

They made their way back up to the pier to retrieve their clothes from Trott’s bag. Trott stood around and watched some toddlers bury each other on the beach. The sky was clear, seagulls flying around overhead. The fresh air and sunshine, with his best friend next to him, he felt an overwhelming sense of home.

At the thought of Ross, Trott turned around to look at his friend. Ross was sitting on the ground, the bag in front of him. He looked increasingly distressed and Trott watched as he searched the bag.

“What’s wrong?” Trott asked. He made his way over to Ross, standing next to him. The wind blew his fringe into his eyes. A wave of worry surged up inside him. He shivered. They were both still in their boxers, and worse, soaked to the bone.

Ross stopped looking in the bag, throwing his hands down. He looked up at Trott. “I think someone stole our clothes, mate.” Ross' eyes looked pale in the sunlight.

Trott looked at him. His eyes widened. “No.”

Ross smiled up at him. “Yep.”

They started laughing.

-

Trott stood at a corner outside the bar. Sam’s, it was called. The place where Smith played every week. Smith finished his set a while ago, but Trott decided to stay and have another drink afterwards. He’d visited there for a while now, and he’d become friends with the bartender.

Trott decided it was time to leave. He stood outside the bar, waiting as he lit up a cigarette. He started walking, slowly. Taking his time.

“Y’know, if you wanted to see me so bad you could’ve just asked for my number.”

Trott spun round, almost dropping his smoke. Smith was standing there, at the corner of the building, a smug smile on his face. Trott had to stop himself from gasping.

“Wh- What?” He spluttered. Smith laughed, loud and easy. Trott couldn’t stop staring. This was definitely not how he imagined meeting Smith again. It was a lot different seeing him up close.

Smith raised his arms up, grinning a stupid big grin. “Well, you’ve only come to all my shows for the last month, haven’t you, mate?”

Smith had him there. He felt like a deer caught in the headlights. He struggled for a reply. Smith watched him, looking more amused than Trott would like. He stood there gaping. “Well, um, would you like a cigarette?”

Smith smiled. Trott smiled.

-

The sun was setting over the seaside. Trott sat on a wall overlooking the ocean, Ross next to him. They were both licking away at ice creams, a comfortable quiet between them. It wouldn’t be long until they’d have to board the train home again.

They were sitting in the cheapest clothes they could find in the closest tourist shop. Ross donned a t-shirt that said ‘I Heart Crabs’. Trott had a red and orange Hawaiian shirt. Luckily, whoever robbed the clothes from their bag didn’t look in the front pocket, where all their money was. Trott did his best to forget what it was like to walk into a shop, naked and dripping wet.

Ross finished his ice cream, licking his lips. He watched as Trott finished his before digging around in his pocket.

“Here. Got this for you.” Ross handed a bracelet to Trott. Ross cringed internally at how awkward he sounded. Trott didn't notice. He looked at the bracelet. It was seashells tied together with navy rope, will little bright blue beads in between. Ross had gotten the same thing for himself but in red.

Trott looked at the bracelet before looking back up at Ross. He didn't know what to say. “Ross-“

He shook his head. “Don’t thank me. They’re friendship bracelets. Do you want me to tie it for you?” Trott nodded, speechless. He held out his arm. Ross took his bracelet, wrapping it round Trott’s wrist and tying it with nimble fingers. It sat nicely. A good contrast between his pale skin. Trott tied Ross' for him, too.

With the wind in their hair and the sand between their brand-new flip flops, they started walking to the train station. They bumped shoulders a few times, walking closer than they probably should've been.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently on my holidays, so I'm posting this from my phone. Sorry for any grammar/spelling/formatting mistakes!

III

 

  
Somehow, meeting up with Smith after his shows became a weekly thing. One could almost go as far and call it _hanging out_. They’d share cigarettes and stories, before returning home at a late hour of the night. Bit by bit, week by week, they became companions.

“It’s kind of funny. We’ve done everything in the wrong order.” Trott said to Smith on one particular Friday night. Their cigarettes glowed softly, ash falling to the ground. They were sitting on a bench in a park. The moon was high in the sky, the only source of light. Trott easily pick out the curve of Smith’s face next to him, but everything else became a dark shape in the even darker night.

Smith relaxed, spreading his legs wide. He put his head back, looking up at the sky.

“What do you mean?” He asked. There was the ghost of a smile on his face. Smith shifted his gaze from the sky to Trott.

Trott looked back at him. “Usually people get to know each other and then they hook up. We hooked up and then we got to know each other.” Trott murmured. It was quiet, except for the slow sounds of their breathing. Neither of them wanted to speak too loud, move too quickly- neither of them wanted to ruin the moment they’d created. It was hard to see Smith’s reaction in the dark.

They hadn’t properly discussed their one night stand. Trott supposed it didn’t need much discussing. It was what it was. They joked about it every now and again. Sometimes, though, when it wasn’t mentioned in a while, Trott began to feel like he’d dreamed it. Like it only ever happened in his mind. Or maybe it did happen, but Smith had somehow forgotten. The relief Trott felt was unimaginable when it was mentioned again.

There was quiet for a moment. “I like being your friend.”

Silence. “I like being your friend too.”

-

 _Friendship_.

Now there’s word Chris Trott doesn’t have much experience with. His only real friend had been Ross. But now, there was Smith. A loose cannon. Unpredictable.

Trott didn’t really know what to make of it. He didn’t feel as lonely as he used to. It was nice having someone to talk to all the time. He was apprehensive- the sting of being left by Ross never faded. Friendship on a whole brought up unpleasant memories. Despite that, Trott realized he enjoyed sharing cigarettes and booze and stories. It felt almost masochistic.

-

It was a while before Smith asked about Ross. Trott knew it was coming. He knew Smith knew there was something wrong somewhere- but he waited until now to ask. They were sitting somewhere, anywhere- sharing a cigarette. The sun was setting in front of them. Trott liked the way the pinks and yellows reflected off of Smith's hair. It created almost a halo around him. It was quiet.

Trott could hear Smith swallow, taking a deep breath. "So- I'm assuming you've had your heart broken, or something." Smith was stiff. Trott could tell Smith knew it was a personal topic.

Trott snorted. "You can say that again." He took a drag out of his cigarette. He wondered if it was obvious he'd imagined this situation hundreds of times, practiced his words in his head so it'd sound just right.

He kept his voice flat, casual. As if it wasn’t a big deal. “Yeah, it was my best friend. Ross. We grew up together. As we got older it sort of...became more. It felt natural. It was great. We went to uni together, but towards our last year Ross started spending more time with his friends, or studying, or working, than he did with me. He got new friends, and it just fell apart. Eventually, he decided he wanted to go do his own thing with his new friends. We outgrew each other, I guess." Trott paused for breath. He could feel a lump forming in his throat. Smith kept sneaking sideways glances at him. Trott took a deep breath.

Smith was quiet. He inhaled sharply, as if he were about to speak, but didn't say anything. He kept looking at Trott, then the ground, then Trott again.

Trott let out a breath. "It ended in a big argument. We both said bad things to each other. He took his things and left. That was that. I haven't seen or spoke to him since." He looked at the ground.

Smith was shuffling around, and Trott was surprised that suddenly, there was a pair of arms around him. Trott's heart swelled so much it was painful. Trott looked at Smith. Smith looked back. They were quiet. Trott blinked the tears from his eyes.

-

The first thing Trott learned about Smith was that _Jesus Christ_ the man could handle his drink. He threw back shots like no tomorrow. Chugging pints was a sport to Smith. Trott could only watch and try to keep up.

A humble trip out became something Trott would later refer to as holy. Pint after pint of cheap lager disappeared into Smith. Before long he moved onto shots. The burn of salt, sting of tequila, whip of lemon. Trott was in awe.

It was a completely different experience with Smith. The music seemed louder, the lights brighter, the people more vibrant. Throwing down tequila was more exciting when you had someone buying the rounds. It was the same club where Trott met Smith outside- but god, when Smith was inside, it was as if it were a totally different place. They had to shout over the music to each other, but Trott could read Smith’s lips well enough that it wasn’t hard.

Trott was briefly reminded of when he would go to parties with Ross. The thought was suffocated almost immediately by Smith handing him a drink and giving him an easy smile.

Smith raised his shot glass. "To doing things in the wrong order."

Trott laughed. He touched his glass against Smith's. "To doing things in the wrong order."

Whether it was the alcohol or not, there was a fuzziness in Trott’s chest. His vision was blurry too, but that was definitely the alcohol.

-

At one point, they were relaxing in the coolness of Trott’s living room. The sun was splitting the stones outside, and Trott’s slatted blinds cast weird shadows everywhere. The air-con was broken, and Trott was both too lazy and too afraid to approach the scary landlord about it. When it was decided that Smith was coming over, however, suddenly Trott threw himself into a flurry trying to tidy up his shoddy apartment.

It looked worryingly unlived in, at the beginning. But after collecting up all the piles of dirty clothes and washing the dishes, it began to look as if Trott had his life somewhat together. Even though he didn’t. His mother would be proud, he thought.

Before long Smith arrived, bearing good tidings and some beer that wouldn’t go to waste. They sat in the sweltering heat, drinking beer that was more lukewarm than cool. It was the hottest weather they’d had in years, the news said. A massive heat wave that showed no signs of going away.

Smith grabbed the ancient guitar that lived in the corner of the sitting room. He gave Trott a questioning glance, a quick raise of the eyebrows and a small smile. He plucked a string, wincing at how out of tune it was. The grimace gave way to a chuckle.

“I didn’t know you play.” Smith shot at Trott, twisting the tuning pegs. Trott watched him, a strange feeling in his chest. He used to play with Ross, way back in uni. The image of Ross banging out a bad version of Stairway to Heaven was a bittersweet memory. Smith was almost in the exact same position as Ross had been; they couldn’t have recreated the memory better if they tried.

Smith looked at him. Trott looked down. Looked anywhere but Smith. Looking at him made Trott ache. He shrugged. “I don’t.” He paused. “Not anymore.”

Smith looked at him again, expression unreadable. He played each string, each one now perfectly in tune. The sound was thick in the air. Smith started playing, plucking and pulling the strings. The melody was bittersweet, too. It suited the moment. Trott didn’t recognize the song. His heart was going to burst- thoughts of Ross, mixed with thoughts of Smith.

The slatted blinds cast weird shadows everywhere. There were lines of light and lines of dark thrown across Smith. Trott had seen Smith play before, of course- but this, this felt strangely intimate. Smith was performing for him. Trott was suddenly struck with the urge to be _closer_. They were sitting across from each other on the shitty carpet in Trott’s living room. Their legs were touching, Trott’s foot bumping against the outside of Smith’s knee. It wasn’t enough.

Trott nudged Smith. Smith gave him a low look, eyes full of heat. Trott almost thought he imagined it. In that moment, he wished Smith was his to have.

-

Trott couldn’t quite believe how fast he became accustomed to Smith.

He still spent his nights with strangers, that wasn’t different. But now- now, when he was deep in someone, treating their moans and their praise with indifference, his mind wasn’t imagining Ross’ body beneath him. No, now he was imagining Smith. To have Smith pressed against him, saying his name-

Trott hated it. He’d already _had_ Smith’s body pressed against him. But now, their one night stand felt as if it’d happened in a different world. The person Trott shared his light with way back- that was different to the person that Trott knew as gregarious with an easy smile.

It almost felt like a betrayal. He’d spent so long thinking, missing Ross, only to replace him with a tall, scruffy guy. He wondered if Ross would approve. He wondered if Ross even thought of him anymore.

-

The club slowly began to fill. The hustle and bustle was background noise to Trott and Smith. Time was lost to them as everything was enveloped in a steady haze that wouldn’t go away. People were gathering on the dance floor. There was an energy surrounding the place- surrounding them- and Trott couldn’t get enough.

“Let’s dance!” Smith yelled over the music, pint in hand. His eyes were bright, the smile never leaving his face.

Trott shook his head. “I don’t dance.”

Smith squinted at him. He bumped his shoulder into Trott, sloshing his drink around. “C’mon, everyone can dance!”

Trott gave him a passive smile. He shook his head again. “I’m out of practice.”

Smith frowned, grabbing Trott's hand and pulling him towards the masses of sweaty people moving to the music. Trott didn't stop him.

Smith immediately found his groove, twisting and twirling. Trott watched him, echoing Smith's movements.

Smith was like a whirlwind. He was everywhere. Ross made it feel as if there were alone- like no one else mattered. Smith, though- he made it feel as if they were dancing a tango. The air felt electric around them. With Smith next to him, Trott felt like he was soaring.

-

Trott wondered, in the back of his mind, if his friendship with Smith was becoming more than friendship.

They joked about it, sure ("That wasn't what you said when my dick was in your ass"), but that was just joking around. There was a difference between joking about it and meaning it.

Trott wasn't sure he wanted a relationship, anyway. There was still a sour taste in his mouth at even the thought of one. At the thought of Ross. Load up the VHS. Listen to the noise. Watch it play.

Maybe, just maybe, Trott did want his dick in Smith's ass.

-

"You _cannot_ be saying that _Bono_ is a _rock god_ -"

"I'm not saying he's a _god_ , more a _disciple_ -"

-

They were lying on Trott's bed. Trott was clutching his stomach, laughing hard and fast. Smith was laughing too, hands covering his eyes to stop the tears that accompanied laughing this hard.

"And- and then I told her- 'looking after the birds must be really hawkward-' and I swear- she could've fucking murdered me-" Smith hiccupped out the sentence. It drove Trott further into hysterics. His belly hurt from laughing. Smith's cheeks were wet.

The laughter dissipated into the air. There was a silence that was filled wit h heaving breaths. Smith wiped the tears from his face.  
Trott looked him dead in the eye. "I bet she wasn't emused."

They descended back into a fit of giggles.

-

Trott felt like he was soaring.

Smith grabbed his hands, and they jumped around with obnoxious, large smiles on their faces. It felt like a tango, despite being anything but. The music was loud, but it felt muffled to Trott, as if he were underwater. Trott couldn't look away from Smith. He was afraid if he'd blink, he'd miss it.

They spun round, clinging to each other. Trott couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol- it probably was- but there was something about being around Smith. A yearning rose up inside Trott. He danced.

Smith twirled him round. Trott came closer to him. Their arms swung back and forth. Trott could feel the heat radiating off Smith. The smell of sweat and smoke and Smith was something Trott couldn’t get enough of. He danced.

They were close. So close. Their chests were almost touching. Trott was close enough to see the way the coloured strobe lights were reflected in Smith’s eyes. He had flecks of gold through his irises. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead. They were close. Not close enough. Trott wanted to kiss him. He danced.

-

They had stopped laughing, at last. Bird puns could only be so funny. They lay together on the white sheets of Trott’s bed. They were both lying on their side, facing one another. Trott wasn’t even sure if he could remember how they got there. He didn’t mind.

Smith still had a massive smile on his face. The sight of it made Trott chuckle. He hummed.

Smith looked at Trott’s lips, Trott saw it. Smith slowly, slowly brought his head forward. Their lips pressed together.

It was short- sweet- but Trott understood. He could read everything from Smith’s eyes.

_I’m sorry. I missed you. Are you sure you want to cross this line? I know it won’t be easy. It’s okay. I’ve wanted to do that for ages. Are you sure?_

Trott swallowed.

_Are you sure?_

He kissed Smith. That was answer enough.

-

Trott woke up. His body ached. _Fucking_   _hell_ , he thought. They must’ve come back to his place after their night out. Trott felt sticky and hot. He’d fallen asleep in his clothes from last night. He hadn’t even bothered to get under the covers. Trott hadn’t closed the blind, either, and the early morning sunlight burned his eyes.

 _Fucking_ _hell_. He stood up. The world spun round him, and he took a shaky step forward. He closed the blind, first. He headed towards the kitchen. His mouth was dry. He made a slow beeline for the medicine cabinet, throwing back two aspirin and chugging a glass of water. He splashed water on his face. He rinsed out the glass before filling it up again. He took out another two aspirin.

Trott turned around. He found Smith fast asleep on the sofa in the living room. He was in his own clothes too. Trott smiled despite himself at Smith’s light snores. He left the pills and the water on the coffee table, for when Smith woke up.

He crossed his arms. Maybe a relationship with Smith would be okay. Trott smiled. He went back to bed.


	4. Chapter 4

IV 

 

 

 

Trott still longed for short black hair and light blue eyes, sometimes. But when he did, he could roll over and wrap his arms around curly hair and eyes that sparkled. 

- 

It was different, being in a relationship. It was weird to fall asleep next to someone and to wake up next to someone. Trott found that Smith brought almost a routine into Trott’s life. Suddenly he wasn’t living off instant noodles and off-brand cornflakes. It was nice. 

Smith still played his shows at the bar. Trott came along, sometimes. Other times he enjoyed the quiet solitude of his empty flat. 

Ross began to feel like a bad dream. 

- 

One thing Smith adored about Trott was the fact he could cook. 

Several times, Trott would be stirring something on the stove and feel a pair of arms sneaking around his waist, a head settling to rest atop his. A small kiss on his temple. A quiet murmuring of “What’s cooking, good looking?”, before Trott batted him away. Beef madras, he told Smith. It’ll be ready soon. 

The kitchen would be full of the smell of spices. Steam would rise from pots and pans. Smith would appear with a bottle of wine they’d share. Trott would plate it up, filling two bowls with curry and rice. They would sit down and eat it and enjoy each other’s presence. 

It became a weekly occurrence. Trott would go to the local supermarket every Tuesday morning, and every Tuesday night they’d enjoy some dish Trott wanted to try his hand at. Smith loved it. He loved food. 

Sometimes, Smith would just sit down and watch Trott cook. At first, Trott laughed and told him that he couldn’t cook under the pressure of being stared at.

However, the Bolognese needed stirring and Trott wouldn’t let Smith get in the way of a perfect dish. He’d potter around the small kitchen. Smith loved watching him chop vegetables, the knife moving swiftly but not swift enough to be dangerous. He loved watching him add things to the pan, hearing them sizzle and spit as Trott sautéed. Tuesdays fast became his favourite. 

“Mm, you’re almost as hot as this curry is,” Smith was say before picking up his knife and fork and digging in. 

Trott would laugh. “Almost.” He’d pout until Smith would kick him under the table. 

“ _Fine_ , you’re way hotter than the curry.” 

Smith adored the fact Trott could cook. 

- 

The first time Smith stumbled in the door looking look he’d just got run over by a car, Trott was beside himself with worry. He’d realized quickly Smith was in no way to talk. 

He’d sat Smith down on the edge of the bath, first aid kit in hand. A black eye was beginning to form, tinting the skin around Smith’s left eye different shades of purple and pink. His nose was covered in dried blood. His knuckles were scratched and grazed. Trott asked no questions. Smith offered no answers. 

Smith pressed a pack of frozen peas to his face. Trott was armed with antiseptic and band aids. He washed away the blood. He made sure everything was clean, that there was no chance for infection. He kissed each knuckle. 

Smith stripped himself of his clothes. They were dirty and blood-stained. They climbed into bed together. Trott was careful not to aggravate Smith’s injuries. Smith held him closer than usual. 

- 

Trott got up from the couch. He went to the speakers, changing the music from whatever indie stuff Smith had on in the background to some classical music. Smith made a noise of protest from the sofa.  

"What are you-" Smith started. Trott took Smith's hands, bringing him out into the middle of the living room. It was cramped, but it would work. 

They stood facing each other. Smith looked confused. Trott took his hands, resting them in the slight curves of Trott's hip. Everything began to make sense. Trott's hands snaked around Smith's neck. 

Trott led the dance. They moved in slow circles around the small space they had. The music floated in the background, the cry of a violin rising above the low orchestra. Smith was tense, but he relaxed as he fell into the easy rhythm. He was warm. So warm. Trott never could believe how the man was almost like a furnace at times. 

Smith hummed. Trott felt the vibration. "I thought you didn't dance." Smith murmured. The smile was obvious in his voice. Trott rested his head on his chest. 

"I do when it's with you." 

Smith snorted. The moment was ruined when he stood on Trott's toe. 

- 

Trott almost felt restrained. 

It was so  _different-_  to spend all his time with one person. Not having to worry about leaving at 3am to avoid the early morning awkwardness that usually accompanied one night stands. To actually let Smith have an insight on what he was  _really_ like. 

There were fleeting moments, when Trott wished he was back spending his time trawling nightclubs. There were the moments when he wished he could turn around and run. 

He knew he'd be ruining Smith if he did that. He loved Smith. Didn't he? 

- 

Smith sat on a chair in the bathroom, facing the mirror. Trott stood directly behind him. Smith paled when he saw the massive pair of silver scissors Trott held.  

"You sure you know what you're doing?" Smith asked. He trusted Trott, he did- but Smith's hair was precious and he didn't want it to go wrong. He'd been complaining about how long it'd got, and who was he to refuse when Trott offered to cut it for him? 

Trott smiled. "I'll have you know I'm very skilled in the art of hairdressing." He snipped the scissors for effect. He didn't mention how he'd cut Ross' hair for him when it became too unruly. Now wasn't the time. 

Smith swallowed. He nodded, and Trott got to work. 

Locks of hair fell to the floor. Trott found it almost therapeutic. Combing through the hair, chopping off the long parts. Smith kept his hair in ridiculously good condition. It gleamed gold in the light. There was a nice contrast between the silver of the scissors.  

If Trott tried hard enough, he could almost pretend it was Ross' hair he was cutting. Sitting in their cramped student apartment at three in the morning, scissors in hand- it was a fond memory. Trott was good at cutting hair.  Maybe in a different world, he was a hairdresser. Maybe in a different world, it'd still be Ross' hair he was cutting. 

Time fell away as easily as Smiths' hair did. Smith had shut his eyes a while ago. The floor was covered in hair. Trott ran his hand through Smith's curls. It was short enough for now. 

He poked Smith in the neck. "We're done."  

Smith's eyes snapped open. He looked in the mirror, running a cautionary hand through his hair. "I look exactly the same but with shorter hair." Trott laughed. There was almost a hint of disappointment in Smith's tone. 

Trott hummed. "If I'd gone any shorter, you would've had my head on a spike."  

Smith laughed. It sounded like a bark. He stood up, shook the hair from his t-shirt and helped Trott clean up. 

- 

It was dark. Trott didn't know the time. All he knew was he was pressed up against the door, Smith's hands on his hips. He could feel the warmth of Smith's breath, when his lips weren't tracing his jaw or sucking his earlobe. 

Trott couldn't help the whine that rose in his throat. He anchored his hands on the waistband of Smith's jeans. He ran his hands under his shirt. The feel of muscle underneath skin was intoxicating. 

Trott felt Smith smile. " _God,_ do you realize how crazy you make me?" Smith said, resting his forehead on Trott's. 

Smith's eyes were bright. He breathed out his nose.  

Trott smiled at him. “I’ve an idea.” 

Smith reminded him of gunpowder. Explosive.  

Trott caught Smith's lip with his teeth. Smith's hands grabbed his face. Suddenly it was wild and fast- Trott was everywhere and nowhere at once. A hand threaded through Smith's hair- soft, short- tugging his head back. There was a  _need_ \- they could both feel it. Trott  _needed_  to turn Smith inside out, to know every single inch of him, to  _devour_  him _._  

Smith made it quite obvious the feeling was mutual. 

- 

"Do you want to go to the beach?" Smith asked one day. They were lying in bed, the early morning sunshine giving Smith a glow.  

Immediately, there was a million images of Ross in Trott's mind. Swimming with Ross. Eating ice cream with Ross. Getting his clothes stolen with Ross.  

Trott hoped, desperately, that Smith couldn't see his hesitation. He knew in the back of his mind that Smith could see it all too well. He could read Trott like a book.  

Trott swallowed. "What were you thinking of doing?" 

Smith gave him an encouraging look. "I dunno, go for a day trip. We don't have to." 

Silence. "Let's do it." 

Less than an hour later, they were on the road. Smith's old banger of a car was only just able to manage the journey. She was temperamental and could only go over seventy miles an hour on a good day. "Just like her owner," Trott had said. He got himself a kick for that. 

The weather was fine, clouds flying past the window. They had all the windows down. The wind was whipping past, the noise rendering conversation pointless. Smith had his sunglasses on. He had one arm on the steering wheel, another hanging out the window. Despite himself, Trott was looking forward to the day ahead. 

They reached the coast. It was early afternoon, and there were plenty of people milling around. The road spanned out in front of them. There were shops and restaurants and pubs lined up, with benches outside. However, everything was overshadowed by the view of the sea. 

Cliffs hugged everthing on the right and left. The sky was a pale blue. The horizon line in the distance was blurry. There were children paddling in the shallows. Rockpools were full of water. Piles of seaweed were heaped on the sand. The sound of the ocean, leaving and returning, was a sound Trott hadn't realized he'd missed. There was a light breeze. It was wonderful.  

They began walking up, stopping in a shop to buy an ice cream. They sat on a wall, enjoying the heat and their treats. Smith was looking around constantly, taking in as much as possible. Trott watched him, his heart heavy. 

"It's amazing here." Smith said, licking away at his cone. A family walking a dog went past. The clouds in the sky were sluggish. 

Trott looked out at the bay. He hummed. "I used to come here as a kid. With Ross." He toed off his runners and socks, digging his feet into the sand. In that moment, Trott wished he was anywhere but here. 

Smith didn't look at him. Ross wasn't an awkward subject anymore- Smith understood- but he came up often enough. Trott wondered if Smith knew just  _how_  much Ross permeated everything in his life.  

"Did you enjoy it?" He paused. "Here, with Ross, I mean."  

Trott looked at the ground. Wistful. He hated talking about Ross, but every time it felt as if he had to. He smiled. "Yeah, we'd a lot of fun." There was so much he could say-  _we carved our initials on that rock, we jumped off the pier holding hands, we came here_ _to_ _honour_ _e_ _very_ _year that'd passed_ _._ He said none of it.  Alex was quiet. He'd finished his ice cream. 

"C'mon." Trott stood up, looking towards the sea. "Let's go for a paddle." He grabbed Smith's hand, and they walked down together. 

- 

Smith was sitting at the table. Trott's kitchen was definitely cramped. There was a delicious smell coming from the pot on the stove, and oh, Smith was hungry. He had to stop himself from asking if it was ready, for the millionth time. He would have to be patient. Trott didn't rush when it comes to food. 

It was pleasant. It felt very...domestic. Trott smiled at the thought. He ran a spoon through the pot, testing the mix he'd laboured over. It needed salt and pepper. The sweet and sour was almost done. It was time to fry the pork. 

Just as he was about to dump the pork pieces into a pan full of spitting hot oil, the lights turned off. The stove stopped. The heating stopped humming. The power was gone. 

Smith looked at Trott. Trott looked at Smith. Smith's whole body asked  _what now?_  

Trott took a deep breath, wiping his hand on a towel. "I'll keep everything I can in the fridge. We can have it another time." Trott spent forever making the sweet and sour- he wanted to get it perfect. To show Smith just how good food could get. However, there was nothing he could do.  

The place was quiet. It was eerie, without the buzzing of the fluorescent lights overhead and the occasional rumbles of the rundown fridge. It was getting dark, too. Trott swore under his breath. 

Half an hour later, they were sat at the table. There was a dozen or so candles sat on the table in front of them. It was the only light in the apartment. They flickered every now and again. Trott had thrown on one of Smith's hoodies. It smothered him, but it was warm. The apartment was getting cold. 

They were munching on old packets of crisps and some ham sandwiches Trott made up. It threw him back to his old school days; white bread, butter, ham, all sliced neatly into squares. Smith was enjoying them, anyway.  

The electricity was back by morning. They'd spent the night huddled together under a few blankets. All in all, it wasn't bad. 

- 

The second time Smith came home looking like he'd been run over, Trott wasn't as worried as before. There was a lot of fear-  _what happened? Are you sure you're okay?_ Trott couldn't help the spike in his heart rate when he opened the door and Smith was there, bleeding onto the carpet of the hallway. 

Smith saw the hint of disappointment that Trott did well to conceal. 

They were crowded in the bathroom, again. This time, it was a bloody nose that could've been broken. There were cuts on his cheek. A long gash running down his arm. Grazed knuckles. Bruised ribs. 

Smith looked like a mess. Once again, Trott was armed with antiseptic. He wrapped everything in cotton bandages, made sure the cut on his arm was okay. Loaded Smith up with painkillers. Made sure he rested properly over the next few days. Told him not to let it happen again. 

Smith didn't hold him close that night, his ribs hurt too much. Smith kissed him on the lips, murmured a  _thank you._ Trott shut his eyes. Opened them again, giving Smith a guarded smile and rolling over on the bed. 

Smith wasn't sure what hurt more- his injuries, or the fact he let Trott down. 

- 

Smith still did his weekly shows. It brought in a nice bit of money that Smith  _insisted_  on spending on shoes. Sometimes, Trott went along to watch him gush over the newest pair of trainers that'd just been released for ridiculous amounts of money. It was cute, in a way.  

"What was it Marilyn Monroe said? 'Give a woman the right pair of shoes, and she can conquer the world'?"  

Trott's voice was light and teasing. Smith only gritted his teeth and elbowed him in the side. 

- 

The next Tuesday, Trott tried making his pork sweet and sour again. Thankfully, the power didn't cut out. He remade the sauce. Dipping the pork pieces in flour, egg, breadcrumbs, egg, breadcrumbs- Trott enjoyed the process. Smith was out, he said he'd be home in time. Good. He threw the pork into the pan of hot oil. They were fried within minutes, and  _god,_  it smelled good. 

He chopped up the vegetables, throwing them into another pan. They sizzled nicely- 

There knock at the door. Trott's eyebrows furrowed. Smith had a key, he didn't need to knock. Trott approached the door, opening it slowly. 

He was faced with a bouquet of roses. Smith's face, glowing with mischief, peeked out from behind it. 

"Alex-" Trott couldn't find the words. Roses were expensive- how much did Smith  _spend_? 

Smith shoved them into his hands. He stepped round Trott, pressing a kiss to his cheek, before going into the apartment. "God, it smells good. Is it ready?"  

Trott could feel the smugness radiating off Smith. He shook his head, a fond smile on his face. He was lucky. So lucky. 

He followed Smith, leaving the roses down to be sorted out later.  He went back to the stove. The noodles were ready, the vegetables were ready, the pork was ready. Finally. He assembled it on two plates, garnishing with coriander. It looked good. Very professional. Trott smiled. 

He had a plate in each hand. The table was set. Smith had filled a pint glass with water and put a single rose inside. It was a nice touch. Trott couldn't shake the beam from his face: his boyfriend, his food, the rose, everything. 

He set the plates down. They picked up their forks, about to dig in. Trott's phone started vibrating, his ringtone playing loud and clear. It was sitting on Smith's side of the table, and he picked it up to hand it to Trott. Smith's smile faded when he looked at the phone. He handed it to Trott. 

Trott's stomach sank. There was a number he could still recognize. There was a four-letter word he'd had tattooed on his heart since he was a child.  

 _Ross._  

Outside, it started raining.


	5. Chapter 5

V

 

 

 

Trott couldn't hide how his hands shook as he held his phone. It was still ringing. He looked at Smith, who stared back. It was up to Trott.

_Accept or decline?_

It was Ross- _Ross_. The person who haunted his dreams. Everything came back to Ross. Everything _always_ came back to Ross. But now- Trott was surprised. He could always imagine himself answering the phone immediately, accepting Ross' gracious apology. They'd get back together. Trott would have his happy ending.

It was harder to think about declining the call. To not answer, throw his phone away and not look at it. But Trott knew if he pressed decline, he'd be haunted by Ross and what Ross' intentions were. Why was Ross ringing him in the first place? Maybe he was drunk. Maybe he was seeking absolution.

Smith stood up, giving Trott a silent nod. He went into the bathroom. Moments later the shower was running. Smith was giving him privacy. He felt so grateful for Smith, but the feeling was lost in the bile that rose up in his throat.

  
Trott swallowed. He pressed 'Accept'.

-

There was silence. All he could hear was the static of his phone. Trott took a deep breath, steeling himself. "Hello?"

The word was lost in the void. There was quiet. Trott wanted to hang up. He felt faint.

"...Trott?"

Ross' voice was quiet, warped by the bad call quality, but it was Ross. Trott was relieved- so relieved- he felt like flying. At last, he could hear Ross' voice again. After so long, he could talk to Ross.

It was followed by a wave of regret. He should hang up. Trott couldn't bear to talk to Ross again, after all this time. After how their last conversation was an angry argument. Their last goodbye was spat at each other. Trott's throat felt tight. He couldn't do this. But he had to.

He tried, desperately, to keep his voice even. "Ross?" That was _definitely_ not a glimmer of hope in his voice. Trott wouldn't allow himself to be hopeful. He hoped to god Ross couldn't hear it.

Ross let out a big breath on the other end of the line. Even after so long, Trott could still imagine him perfectly.

"How- how have you been?"

If Trott tried hard enough, he could almost hear a glimmer of hope in Ross' voice, too.

He took a deep breath. He'd dreamt of this moment, for better or for worse. "I've been okay." Trott wasn't going to give anything away- he wouldn't let Ross' know he'd been worse for wear. Ross didn't need to know that. He took another breath. "How are you?"

Ross paused. "I've been okay, too."

  
There was a silence. It felt too empty. Trott went to say something- anything- but Ross beat him to it.

"I'm in town, for a few days. If you want, we could- if you want, we could meet up and- and talk things over."

_Meet up. Talk things over._

Those words alone caused Trott's heart rate to spike. He'd get to see Ross. He'd get to see Ross, after all this time.

"I think- I think I'd like that." Trott's voice was shaking. So were his hands. There was a lump in his throat.

Ross said he'd text the details. Then they'd hung up. Trott put his phone back down on the table. He sat, trying to get his breathing under control. He put his head in his hands.

-

Smith appeared out of the shower, towel around his waist. His hair was ringing wet, and he was trailing droplets of water after him. He looked at Trott, his eyes asking the question his mouth wouldn't.

Trott looked at him. He smiled, brief and small. "He's in town for a few days. We're meeting up."

There was a weight in his words he hadn't anticipated. The weight of so many sleepless nights wondering what Ross was doing, if he was happy. The weight of so many angry bouts, wondering maybe if he'd acted differently, would they still be together. Finally, at last, he would get the retribution he'd been looking for all this time.

Smith enveloped him in a hug. Trott reheated their dinners in the microwave. They sat down and ate.

-

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Trott felt like a lamb to the slaughter. No- he felt like Jesus, walking into a trap. Judas Iscariot would kiss his cheek, and then he'd be taken away, damned to die slowly. Walking into a trap because he knew he'd have no other choice. Walking into a trap because he needed to.

Trott pretended he didn't stay up late, in the days leading up to meeting Ross, reading and re-reading his conversation with Ross. Reading the texts, going through every single thing Ross could've meant when he'd said I'm glad we'll be seeing each other.

Too many times, his finger lingered over the 'call' button.

Too many times, he was filled with guilt and sorrow and anger at the thought of hearing Ross' voice again. What did it matter? They would be seeing each other soon anyway.

More often than not, Trott rolled over and went to sleep.

-

Trott was meeting Ross in three hours. They were having coffee in this new hipster coffee house a few streets away. Trott couldn't sleep the night before. The anxiety was rolling off him in waves.

After lying in bed next to a sleeping Smith for a few hours, Trott got up. He let the water heat up for a few minutes. He took his time in the bathroom, laying out his clothes and his towels and his facewash. A routine was soothing. At least, it was usually.

He let the shower run. The room was filled with steam within minutes. Trott climbed in. The water was boiling hot. It left red marks on his skin. He needed it to be hot. He needed it to cleanse him of his mistakes, to prepare him for the day ahead.

He shut his eyes. The water pressure was terrible, but it was manageable. Trott let it work its magic.

Before long, he heard the shower door open and close. Smith was behind him. No words were spoken. Even now, Smith knew what he needed. Even now, Smith acted as an anchor.

Smith rested his hands on Trott's shoulder. Smith began massaging him. Trott almost laughed at the idea. It was so cliché- but yet here he was. The thought was cut off almost immediately when Smith rubbed circles on that knot in his shoulder. Trott had to bite back the gasp of relief. Smith was a man of many talents, massaging included.

Smith rubbed circles all over his shoulder blades, all over his back. Trott was surprised it worked so well. When all the tension was released, Smith grabbed the bottle of shampoo. He poured a generous amount onto his hand. He began rubbing it into Trott's scalp. Foam formed quickly, only to be washed away by the spray of water.

Smith washed the shampoo out of Trott's hair. He grabbed Trott, turning him round so that they were facing each other. He sunk to his knees, bringing himself face to face with Trott's cock. Trott grabbed onto Smith's hair, slippery with water. He couldn't help but rest the back of his head against the wall of his shower. Smith was a man of many talents, sucking dick included, after all. Trott made sure to repay the favour later.

-

Trott turned up the collar of his denim jacket. The rain was pouring down. He couldn't remember where he'd put his raincoat- so he made do without it. The coffee shop wasn't far away, anyway.

He stepped in the door. The windows of the café were fogged up with condensation. There was the rich aroma of coffee and the loud noise of espresso machines behind the counter. The place was busy, but not packed. There was a nice selection of sandwiches and cakes on offer. However, Trott noticed none of this.

He scanned the room, searching. He couldn't find Ross anywhere. He must be late.

Trott ordered an americano and sat down at a table towards the back. There were masses of butterflies in his stomach, but it felt as if they had horns and spikes and weren't afraid to hurt him. He was afraid to drink his coffee. He was constantly looking at the door. Every word of conversation he heard from other customers set him off. What if Ross couldn't make it? Surely, he'd text Trott. Ross wouldn't just...stand him up, would he?

A cough brought Trott out of his daze. Ross was standing at his table. He was holding his hat in his hands, and he looked sheepish.

  
Trott couldn't look away. Ross looked _different_. He'd got older. There were bags under his eyes. Trott wondered if Ross lost sleep over their whole ordeal the same way Trott lost sleep. He had the shadow of stubble across his jaw. His hair was longer. He had a grey polo shirt layered beneath a black coat. He was still just as tall as Trott remembered.

They stared at each other. Trott couldn't believe that the person he'd spent dreaming about for so long was right in front of him. It was almost too good to be true.

Ross coughed again. "Long time no see." He cracked a grin, and before long, they were laughing.

-

Trott and Smith were sat in the bathroom, once again. Smith was sitting in front of the mirror, a towel draped round his neck. Trott brandished his silver scissors. He was cutting Smith's hair again. This time, they'd learned from their mistakes. Last time, Smith was shaking hair out of his t-shirt for days afterwards. That wouldn't happen this time.

"Let me get this straight," Smith said, watching Trott in the mirror as he trimmed away the long parts. "Both of us are going out to dinner with Ross, because you told him about me and he wants to meet me?"

Trott huffed a laugh. He caught Smith's eye in the mirror for a moment, before returning to his hair. "Yeah, basically."

Smith's voice took on a serious tone. "But you and him are good now?"

Trott stopped cutting. He rested his hands on the top of Smith's head, holding eye contact in the mirror. "We sorted everything out. We laughed and we might've cried. I definitely didn't."

They reverted back to silence, Trott snipping away and Smith enjoying the attention. There was the faint thunder of rain in the background. It was a nice white noise.

"It was some guy harassing a girl." Smith said, out of the blue. He scared the daylights out of Trott, who wasn't expecting it. Smith had a strange expression on his face, and Trott couldn't quite place it.

"What?" Trott looked at him,  
forehead creasing. He was almost done. There were small piles of hair littering the floor.

Smith swallowed. "The first time I got beat up. This guy was harassing a girl so I broke his nose."

"You broke his nose?"

Smith nodded. "I heard the bone crack. He didn't take it well, though."

Trott huffed, murmuring a small _you can say that again_. "What about the second time?"

Smith wouldn't catch his eye. "This other guy came at me because I called him a cunt."

Trott didn’t answer. Instead he took away the towel from Smith's neck. He squeezed Smith's shoulders. Their eyes met in the mirror. Trott smiled. He began tidying up.

-

Trott couldn't stop _looking_ at Ross. He sipped away at his americano while he watched Ross go up and order his coffee.

Ross wasn't the same person he'd gone to university with, that was for sure. He'd filled out, lost the student look. Trott couldn't remember if his shoulders were always that broad. Ross began making his way back to their table, tea in hand. He caught Trott's eyes, gave him a smile. Looked back at his cup. Almost bumped into a lady with a child. Smiled at her, said _I'm so sorry_ , said _thank_ _you_ , said _have a nice day._

Ross. The word felt strange in Trott's mouth, now that he was looking at him. The image he had in his mind for the word Ross didn't seem to match the one standing in front of him.

Ross sat down, made sure not to spill his drink. Opened his mouth to say something. Trott beat him to it. "I'm- We're not the same people we were back then."

The words came out in a rush. Trott practiced them in his head, but they weren't supposed to come out like that. They were supposed to be slow, even, a reflection of how cool and calm Trott was.

Ross seemed surprised, as if he hadn't expected such a blunt statement, right off the bat. His plan was to ease them into it, so it would feel natural. He stayed quiet, looking down.

He looked up, his eyes cutting through Trott. "I know. That's why I want to take this chance to make it better."

-

"It'll be okay. You and Ross will get on well, I know it."

"I hope so."

A squeeze of the hand. "Hey, we do things backwards, right?"

"Right."

-

The restaurant was fancy.

Trott could tell Smith was sizing up Ross. Whether or not Smith approved or not, was something else.

Conversation was fast and easy, full of jokes. They all got on well together, Trott concluded.

He excused himself to the bathroom about halfway through their meal. It'd be good for Ross and Smith to have some time alone together. To get to know each other without Trott acting as the middleman.

At the dinner table, it was quiet. It wasn't an awkward silence- at least, Smith didn't think it was- but they were both just digging into their meals. Smith ordered some Italian dish and he couldn't get enough.

He liked Ross. He did. Ross and Trott had a rhythm they'd fallen into immediately when they saw each other. You could tell they'd known each other for years. If anything, Smith felt like a third wheel- but he didn't. He enjoyed being round-

"He really likes you, you know." Ross had stopped eating to break the quiet. Smith had to finish slurping up spaghetti to answer him.

Ross was looking at him in a perculiar way. Smith looked back. He tried- and failed- to keep the surprise out of his voice. "He does?"

Ross smiled at him, nodding. "He only ever picks the best, our Chris Trott."

"I what?" Trott sat down, back from the bathroom.

Smith shared a laugh with Ross. Their secret. Trott shrugged.

-

"So, do you- do you like him?" Trott's voice was low in Smith's ear. They were huddled together under the covers. Trott pressed a small kiss to Smith's jugular.

Smith nodded. "Yeah. I really do." He was quiet for a moment. "It's obvious how well you know each other."

Trott frowned. "You don't feel left out, do you?"

"Of course I don't, you big- you big silly."

-

Trott woke up. The room was dark. Smith was sound asleep next to him.

He sat up in bed. A look at his phone told him it was around four in the morning. There was rain falling outside, hitting against the bedroom window. Trott got up, headed for the kitchen.

The kitchen tiles were cold underfoot. The apartment was quiet. He rinsed a glass, filling it with water. Smith's bouquet of roses sat proudly in a makeshift vase. The smooth chrome of the sink reflected light in weird ways.

Trott stepped around his apartment. He sipped his water as he surveyed everything. His apartment, which he'd only started living in properly recently. His boyfriend, asleep in his bed. The kitchen, home to many Tuesday-night dinners. The living room, or dancing and music and kissing and living.

Ross was asleep on the sofa. He was snoring lightly. Even after all this time, he still hadn't broken that habit. Trott couldn't help the surge of happiness in his chest now that Ross was back- even better, Ross was here, with him and Smith.

Maybe, just maybe, Trott thought, they could make this work.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jesus thank you for reading this far. This fic was a big milestone for me in a lot of ways and I really really hope you enjoyed reading it. All the kudos and comments are very appreciated. I'll see you around ;)


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